This article was originally published in Scotland On Sunday on 24th March 2013.
DOCTOR
WHO: 50th
ANNIVERSARY
On
23rd
November 1963, the day after the assassination of John F. Kennedy,
the BBC launched a new Saturday tea-time adventure serial ostensibly
aimed at children.
Enigmatically
titled Doctor
Who,
and swathed in an eerie electronic theme tune, episode one, An
Unearthly Child,
introduced a pair of inquisitive schoolteachers who, concerned by the
strange behaviour of a brilliant young pupil, followed her home to
solve the puzzle.
What
they discovered, much to their understandable alarm, was that the
girl lived in a junk yard. Not only that, she lived in a police box
in a junk yard. Except it wasn't a police box at all, but rather a
bigger-on-the-inside alien spacecraft capable of travelling through
time and space. Its pilot, a crotchety old man known only as the
Doctor, wasn't best pleased that his teenage granddaughter had
unwittingly led a pair of meddling apes into his secret world.
Fearing discovery by the rest of humankind, he saw no choice but to
kidnap the teachers and exit the Earth post-haste.
The
episode ends with the TARDIS – an acronym for Time and Relative
Dimensions in Space – materialising on a barren, forbidding
landscape, as the ominous shadow of a misshapen figure falls into
view.
It's
one of the most arresting introductions to a television drama in the
entire history of the medium. Over the space of just 25 minutes, the
craftspeople responsible for this curious new programme managed to
establish a premise so original, strong and bewitching, it has
endured practically unchanged for fifty years.
Without
access to a time machine themselves, they could never have foreseen
that in 2013 we can say, without much fear of contradiction, that the
ever-regenerating Doctor is one of the greatest heroes in all of
fiction. And yet here we are, with the world's longest-running
science-fiction television series still reigning supreme.
So
why has it endured for so long? Is its quirky character in some ways
a reflection of our own national identity? Of our affinity with
underdogs and loveable eccentrics?
“One
of the things that's interesting about Doctor
Who
as a cultural phenomenon over the whole fifty years is that its
selling point has really been its Britishness,” says Dee Amy-Chinn,
a senior lecturer in Media and Culture at the University of Stirling.
“The Doctor has always in some way embodied a kind of quirkiness
that's specifically British. When it started in the 1960s it was
reflecting Britain's back-room boffins who'd won the war through
Bletchley Park and building the bouncing bomb. Britain had never been
able to chuck troops at the Second World War in the way that America
had, but it could do something that was something just a little bit
different and British.”
The
Doctor is a classic hero. Decent, honest and brave, he despises
intolerance in all its forms and stands up for the oppressed wherever
they need saving. Sure, he's made mistakes. You don't traverse the
farthest reaches of the universe for over a thousand years without
cracking a few eggs and causing the odd rip in the fabric of time and
space. But, as current show-runner Steven Moffat says, “He's
such a moral man. He's a good, clever man, that's all he is. I think
that's about as positive a message as you could possibly give.”
Conceptually,
the show is unique in that the periodic replacement of its lead actor
is actually ingrained within its fictional lore. When first Doctor
William Hartnell became too ill to continue in the role, the
production team came up with the inspired idea of having him
physically regenerate his appearance into that of Patrick Troughton.
It was a risky move which ultimately paid off, and an enormous factor
in Doctor
Who's
longevity. The fundamental genius of its infinitely flexible format
is another major component. What other TV show can hop across so many
genres – horror, comedy, western, period drama, space opera etc. -
with such ease every week? “
Today
regarded as a cultural institution, it can attract guest stars of the
calibre of Simon Callow, Penelope Wilton, Timothy Dalton and – both
in the role of the Doctor's arch-nemesis The Master - Derek Jacobi
and John Simm. Notable writers during the current era include Richard
Curtis, celebrated fantasy author Neil Gaiman, and Men
Behaving Badly
creator Simon Nye.
But
it wasn't always so feted. After reaching its peak of popularity in
the '70s under the stewardship of the dashing Jon Pertwee and the
incomparable Tom Baker – viewing figures frequently peaked between
an impressive ten and twelve million – its popularity declined
following the early 1980s tenure of Peter Davison. It became the
butt of tired jokes about wobbly sets (they didn't actually wobble)
and cheap monsters (they maybe had a point there).
Even
its fans were
derided as sad spotty virgins laughably obsessed with a tatty kid's
show.
And
yet to be a fan in 2013 simply means you're an ordinary viewer who
enjoys one of the most treasured jewels in the BBC's crown. No longer
the niche concern that it was during the twilight years of Colin
Baker and Sylvester McCoy, it's now a shiny bauble of block-busting
Saturday night entertainment: the space-hopping yin to Strictly's
fox-trotting yang. It's finally won the widespread respect it always
deserved.
Of
course, this is something of a double-edged sword for long-time fans
such as myself. While we're thrilled that it's now one of the UK's
most popular TV shows – and it's finally gaining a significant
audience in the US too – one can't help bristling at the fact that
many of those now praising it were once only too eager to dismiss it
out of hand. Vintage Doctor
Who
couldn't boast the Hollywood-standard special-effects of the revived
series – no TV show could in those days – but it was basically
always the same wonderfully imaginative and unique show that critics
and awards panels adore so much today. So what took them so long?
One
explanation is that in the last ten years, the sort of paraphernalia
enjoyed by “geeks” – computer games, sci-fi, superheroes,
comics etc. – has been assimilated into the mainstream. So there's
no longer any stigma attached to watching Doctor
Who.
As Steven Moffat has often said, it's a show which “fetishises”
intelligence. Thankfully, today's audience responds to that in
droves.
It's
remarkable to consider that if you were born in Britain before, say,
1985, you'll have been aware of Doctor
Who
for most or all of your life. “It's part of a series of shows today
that appeal to both children and adults,” says Dee Amy-Chinn. “But
I think Doctor
Who does
that better than other dramas in that slot, things like Merlin,
because adults remember it from their own childhood.”
Even
if you've never seen a single episode, you'll recognise the TARDIS
and know what a Dalek is. That, it must be said, is one powerful
cultural imprint for a television programme to leave behind.
Similarly
remarkable is that no-one seriously expected Doctor
Who
to be in this position in 2013. After being quietly dropped in 1989,
ostensibly due to dwindling ratings – although the BBC essentially
killed it off by scheduling it opposite Coronation
Street
– it mainly continued to exist on home video, the convention
circuit and in a teeming range of spin-off novels, some written by
the very people associated with the series today.
A
1996 TV movie starring Paul McGann, while greeted favourably at home,
failed to spark the hoped-for comeback when the US co-producers
pulled out due to its poor performance over there. And that, it
seemed, was that. Generations would grow up without the comforting
presence of the Doctor by their side. He was yesterday's hero.
Except,
as we know, he wasn't. You can't confine a Time Lord to the past,
after all. As much of a pioneering hero in his way as the people
responsible for creating Doctor
Who
back in 1963, lifelong super-fan Russell T. Davies – who also
happened to be an award-winning TV writer of huge renown – revived
the show in 2005 to spectacular effect . Casting “proper actor”
Christopher Eccleston as the Doctor came as a surprise to some, but
it also helped to convince sceptics that this revival meant business.
Since then it's gone on to win five BAFTAs, six Hugo Awards, and
fourteen National Television Awards. It's also been credited with
reviving the phenomenon of communal family viewing.
“As
media consumption becomes more fragmented,” says Dee Amy-Chinn,
“anything you can do to bring people together in the way that
Doctor
Who
does, with something for everybody because it works on so many
different levels, then that show is doing something quite rare and
unusual. It's success says that audiences are interested in good
storytelling, well drawn characters, high production values, and
something that can be a shared family experience.”
Not
everyone loves it, of course. It's been criticised for being
emotionally manipulative, over-complicated, inappropriately
sexualised and self-important. Some say it's changed too much. And
they're right, as well as wrong. It has endured because it has
constantly evolved over the decades, but without ever losing sight of
its fundamental reason for being: to inspire and entertain. Like the
Doctor himself, it's changed several times, yet always remained the
same.
That
simple yet inspired idea, cooked up fifty years ago in the corridors
of the BBC, about an eccentric alien in a time machine has travelled
farther than even the Doctor's wildest dreams. Why? Because at its
heart, it's a triumphant celebration of inquisitive knowledge and
heroic rebellion, of loyal endeavour and noble sacrifice, of liberal
morality and the thwarting of evil. Plus it's got loads of crazy
aliens and explosions in it.
Few
cultural artefacts have managed to cover so much ground in a way that
appeals to such an enormous, disparate audience. It's an incredible
achievement. Happy birthday, Doctor. Long may you roam.
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